


"Punk rock [boy], you look so wild"

by glitchfics



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, alcohol tw, cliff is still a big hick, food tw, javier has kids, jonas is the owner of a struggling tech startup, mint chip ice cream, mitch drives the same car as mars and names it after his mom, mitch looks sexy in coveralls, sidney is a really hot lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchfics/pseuds/glitchfics
Summary: How the hell is Mitch supposed to do his job if every other day there’s the same cute, soft boy coming in with varying degrees of car trouble? He decides to handle it by using his job to sweat and lift things in front of said soft boy, drive him around at top speed, and sit next to him on a beach.Takes place in what I’ve called the “Mitch is a mechanic with a crush on a guy whose car won’t stop breaking” AU. In my mind, it takes place where everyone is in their early-ish twenties, anywhere from 22 to 25 (that’s my best estimate). I tried to show how they would have evolved over the years while staying true to their original characterizations.Title lyric - "Punk Rock Girl" by the Dead Milkmen





	"Punk rock [boy], you look so wild"

**Author's Note:**

> Long Exposure, among a few other other webcomics, books, music, etc., has kicked off my summer Awesome Content Soak. I never mean for it to happen, but once I have free time on my hands I occupy myself by falling headlong into anything that I can read, watch, or listen to. Obviously, since I wrote a little something for it, I highly recommend Long Exposure. Jonas is a teddy bear, Mitch is an endearing douchebag, and there are some definite sci-fi, Stranger-Things-esque undertones. If you want to find out what the fuck I mean you should probably definitely read the comic.

The sun was beating down hot on a lone, whitewashed brick structure along the side of a paved road bleached grey by the light. It stood, framed in the front by thirsty weeds, framed in the back by lush, green deciduous forest. Both of the massive metal doors had been thrown up in an effort to circulate some air through the empty garage. Nothing was stirring, except for the sporadic flexing of a jaw dusted in coarse blonde hair. A man was laying reclined in a lawn chair, feet propped up on a warped coffee table. Dogs snoozed heaped up beneath his legs, paws and tails twitching in phantom chase. He turned his head, a resounding _ping_ resonating from an old can on the floor as he spit an expertly-aimed, foul stream of tobacco juice into it.

Two yellow eyes gleamed from beneath a dusty rack of shelving. Quietly, an alien form slunk from the darkness. A tiny wizened face topped by satellite dish ears was trained intently on the canine pile. In a blur of velveteen wrinkles and lanky limbs, she streaked across the concrete floors and landed, claws first, on the peaked head of one of the sleeping hounds before darting off.

The dog vaulted up, hips sagging when he hit the ceiling of his owner’s crossed legs. Without even looking down, the man grumbled, “Bailey! Shut it. Fuckin’ naked demon cat.”

“Mini bothering your mutts again, Cliff?” Scratch cackled, vaulting his legs. She aimed a soft tap at the passing cat with her boot. In the heatwave she’d cracked and completely shaved her head, and she ran a hand over the stubble with a snicker when Cliff declined to respond. “Thought so.”

She could barely tolerate the heat, leaving her in the combat boots she refused to take off, black cutoffs, and a butchered wifebeater. Like Mini, she slipped out of the back of the shop. However, instead of trotting off into the trees, she shimmied her way up rusty scaffolding left against the back of the building and curled up in the shade of the overhang of the metal roof. This is what she preferred when it got hot like this. Unless the gang was going to crack open a case of cold beer and play cards in the office that they’d made their break room, she was there. For the moment, she was content to peer through the dirty window while she listened to music and flicked pebbles at a target painted on a nearby wall. 

With Cliff half-asleep and Scratch declaring her title as a recluse, Javier was the only one in the shop actually doing anything. “Doing anything” meaning leaning up against the “office” wall, at attention to see if anyone pulled in needing someone who wasn’t stoned or hiding. The only car that pulled in was a 1971 Chevy Nova, which would have been a point of interest if it didn’t swing in at the same time, into the same spot, with the same driver behind the wheel every day. 

Mitch swung his legs out and stood to his full height, stretching lazily like a cat in the sun. His “trEAT HIM _WRONG_ ” tank top was on full display, worn coveralls knotted around his waist by their sleeves because of the heat. He pushed his aviators up atop his head, a few shorter strands of blonde hair escaping the glasses and dipping forward. 

“Hey, Bozo! You grab me a drink?”

“The clown shit hasn’t been a thing since I had a kid,” he snorted. Javier turned to head for the fridge, tossing a question over his shoulder. “Beer?”

“Yeah since your _second_ kid. First is gonna turn out like a fuckin’ Stephen King book. And no beer, Coke. Glass bottle; none of that canned shit.”

“Stephen King my ass; you can’t read for shit. Your bougie ass needing glass bottles; too damn expensive,” he grumbled.

He laughed toothily and snagged the bottle from Javier’s hand, kicking the leg of the lawn chair Cliff was residing on in the same motion. “Off my fucking chair.” He thumbed up the brim of a camo trucker cap, eyes following Cliff as he gathered himself and moved to a less comfortable seat across the rickety table. His dogs whined their dissent as they slunk after their master and reassembled their furry mass. 

The lawn chair creaked as he fell back into it and rested an arm behind his head. The glasses shaded his face when he flipped them back down, taking a sip from the sweating glass bottle in his hand. 

And thus the garage stagnated once again. Cliff with his dogs curled up beneath him. Scratch’s eyes glowing through the dirty window, Mini’s from the forest. Javier dozing against a wall, waiting for customers. Mitch sipping on a Coke, setting it on the floor to leave a ring of condensation. Everyone passed in and out of consciousness in the heat. Sometimes they were napping, sometimes just relaxing.

“I tell you man, this is why we need a tow truck. I bet all of our customers are out there with overheated engines, and we’re stuck here with no business.”

“We’re a shop, Javier. Mech-an-ics,” Mitch mumbled, eyes closed. “Well, Scratch does paint and detailing, but who gives a rat’s ass.”

“I know, but we’re not getting as much business as we should be. It’s been a little slow, and -”

He dipped his sunglasses to look over them. “Look, just because you fucked up and got locked up, and now you’re in trouble with your broad, doesn’t mean we’re all on eggshells too. We don’t have any cars right now, so there’s nothing for us to do.” He yawned. “‘S what you get for getting all involved in Cliff’s weed.”

“Hey! You smoke it too; it’s good shit, man.”

His smile was wide as he chuckled. “Some good shit is right.”

Cliff roused himself enough to pat his knee and drawl, “Damn straight.” 

“And don’t call Marzia a broad; she could kick your ass you know.”

Mitch waved his hand. “Relax, relax. She’s cool. Even though she never comes around anymore.”

“Well, she thinks you guys are a bad influence. She’s not stupid; she knows -”

“Bad influence?” He sat up. “I would argue that we’re the _best_ influence.” A finger rose with each point he made. “How to fix shit. How to drink. How to brawl. What else do they need t’ know?”

“Your future kids are going to make great criminals,” Javier teased. 

On “future kids” they heard a car pull off of the road and onto the shop’s lot. Two cars actually. One was a small, blue sedan - riding on a spare, Mitch noticed upon closer inspection. The other a green hatchback following closely behind. 

Javier motioned them in, opening his palm to stop them when they were positioned to his liking. “And now, I can actually get some work done.”

Mitch recognized the sedan. It had come in a couple times within the past month; the first for a dead battery and finicky alternator, and the second for an adjustment they’d failed to make the first time. And now here it was again, presumably because of the doughnut it was rolling on. 

More importantly, he recognized its driver. Jonas, if he remembered correctly - like he could forget. All soft curves and freckles. When he talked to you it was like he was perpetually looking up through his fucking eyelashes. And he always sounded like he chose his words real careful - like he gave a shit about whoever he was talking to. Plus, he smelled fantastic, like startlingly amazing. Like drugstore body wash and fabric softener. It was a real _domestic_ smell, intoxicatingly so. 

“Gonna have to bench you on this one, Bozo,” Mitch said, unfolding to his feet and sauntering over to the car, Coke still dangling from his fingertips.

“Marzia is gonna ruin me,” he groaned desperately as he paced away.

“Back again?” he asked, amused, when the driver’s side window rolled down. With it came a gentle, lapping wave of that soft scent. He bent over and crossed his arms along the open window.

Jonas looked embarrassed. “Uh, yeah. It’s just the tire; I’m on a spare. The AAA guy said I should probably get to a shop so they could patch the old tire and put it back on. If you can, I mean.”

“I can see that,” he murmured, looking down the side of the car. “Tire in the trunk?”

“Should be, yeah.”

“You mind popping it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing.” He fumbled for the keys, pulling them out of the ignition and passing them to Mitch through the window, watching for a beat as the mechanic walked around behind him to unlock the trunk. He pushed open the door and stepped out, watching as he hefted the old tire out.

“What’s the problem here? You gonna be able to fix this?” 

He did a doubletake when he saw another Jonas facing him, half-out of the green hatchback. 

“That’s my sister, Sidney. We’re twins,” he said sheepishly. 

He saw it now. This Jonas was even softer, even curvier, albeit with roughly the same amount of freckles. Her hair was longer, spilling down from beneath a black beanie in dark, mussed waves. How she was wearing the amount of black she had on, in this weather, he couldn’t fathom. She wore black sneakers and jeans with a v-neck beneath a blazer cuffed up to her elbows, her eyelids smeared dark, her full lips glossy and red. She didn’t look up through her eyelashes so much as she looked disapprovingly down her pert nose.

“Twins, yes. That’s obvious, Jo.” Her attention swiveled back to Mitch as she repeated herself. “You gonna be able to fix this?”

His mouth twisted in irritation. He hated a gaze that could pin him like that. “Of course I can fix this. It’s a tire.” 

“Thank you,” Jonas said quickly, his eyes cutting at his sister for her brusque tone. “That would be great.”

“No problem, Spots.” 

The contrast in the twins’ expressions intensified immediately, Jonas looking down with a small smile and Sid practically curling her lip. “Spots?” they asked in tandem.

He laughed as he shouldered the worn tire. “I’d recommend investing in a mirror. You’ve got a little something on your face.” His thumb caught his own jaw like it was brushing away a smear of dirt. “I’m going to go try and inflate this; we’ll see where it needs to be patched or if you’ll need a new one. Just a minute.”

_The moment his tall frame disappeared around the corner, Sid narrowed her eyes even further and turned to her brother. “What the actual hell is his problem? Spots? How many times have you been here before?”_

_“Just a few.” His shoulders twitched in defensively._

_She appraised him with that gaze for a moment. Her eyes were scalpel and tweezer, delicately slicing, spreading, pinning, and dissecting him. The red poppy of her mouth pursed. “Really? That guy?”_

_“I don’t know what you mean.”_

_“Sometimes I feel like I can’t let you out of my sight. He looks like the leader of a motorcycle gang,” she hissed. Sid held her jaw loose and pulled back her lips to expose her teeth. “No problem for me, Spots; I fix tires all the time, Spots.” The words slid out thick, with a bitter edge, like molasses. “He might as well be pulling your hair in class.”_

_Jonas stifled a laugh before continuing. “Please don’t be difficult,” he begged his sister. “I just want to get my car fixed.”_

_One brow curved up. It was more likely than not that she would have said something more had a certain very tall someone in coveralls not rounded the corner, tire slung over one shoulder. Instead, she was forced to settle with a higher-grade pout._

Even hauling a tire sent sweat pouring down his back, the thin material of his top clinging to him like a second skin. The fine play of muscles in his back mirrored themselves in the damp cotton-blend as he eased the tire down and set about hooking it up to an air supply. If he tried to inflate it, he could find and patch wherever the hole or puncture was by passing a hand over the rubber surface. 

As it inflated with a familiar gentle hissing sound, he found himself mildly disappointed that it was such a quick fix. Seeing Jonas was a welcome interruption to hot, grimey days. It wasn’t just the way he smelled or the softness of his features. It was the way he made him feel. And someone making Mitch feel something like that, really feel it, was rare.

Jonas was the kind of person who people wanted to know, to be friends with, to trust them. Not in the unbelievably charismatic way either. Being around him wasn’t like this blazing shaft of sunlight, like magnetic people are always described. It wasn’t blinding or stunning. Instead, he was like the flame of a candle. A small, sputtering glow, quietly drawing a small menagerie of moths and other insects who were enraptured by the faint light. His light was the kind that the human eye sought for miles amid pitch darkness. And like a candle flame, it was absolutely mesmerizing to watch. It wasn’t until you felt the heat against your cheek that you realized how closely you’d been observing the ribbon of fire.

But he was being a fucking idiot because no-way, no-how was he ever even going to see Jonas enough for it to make a difference. _Unless that shitty car keeps breaking_ , he thought as he chuckled to himself. 

He furrowed his brow, turning the tire over and carefully running over it again. It was inflating absolutely fine. The rim dug into his shoulder once more as he hefted it and turned to walk back out into the garage. Instead of passing through one of the massive garage doors in the back, which were open like the ones in the front, he walked through an open doorway behind some shelving to the sound of bickering. Scratch had scrambled down from her post for some reason and was now fucking with Cliff harder than usual. She was perched on the back of his chair, which was dangerously close to breaking or tipping over, with her hands clasped over his head for balance. Usually, the best way to discourage her was to ignore her. Cliff was trying to, but she’d exceeded even his limit, and he was reaching back as if to grab her by the scruff and tear her off.

It would have been easy to bark at her, send her back to her rusty turret. He smirked and walked by without a word. Still behind the shelving, he heard hushed - but not quite hushed enough - voices echoing from by Jonas’ car.

_No problem for me, Spots; I fix tires all the time, Spots ... pulling your hair in class._

It was a poor impression of him, and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes. However, his skin was thick, and it was apparent that Sidney wasn’t a fan of him anyways. But then he heard a small laugh, stifled as it was against a hand. Mitch stiffened, almost more bothered by the fact that it bothered him than he was by the actual sound. He squared his shoulders more than usual, which, if you knew Mitch, was the equivalent of drawing them in defensively. 

They quieted quickly when he stepped out from behind the shelving and walked towards them, dropping the tire at his feet and - maybe - reveling a little bit in the way Jonas flinched at the sound.

“Bad news.” The “Spots” was left off of the end of his statement. 

Sid rose her eyebrows and widened her eyes as if she were permitting him to continue. “Yeah?”

“Well, as far as I’ve figured, there’s no puncture in this tire. Have you hit any potholes or curbs lately? Anything like that?”

“The parking lot at work is pretty rough, but I drive over that everyday.”

He tipped his head for moment while he thought. That might have been enough to cause the damage. “This tire is pretty old. With enough wear, driving over those potholes everyday could have eventually slipped the tire off of the rim. When did you notice it?”

“After I left the parking lot, maybe about halfway home. I pulled off into a supermarket parking lot, called AAA, and got the spare on. This was the soonest I could make it here.”

“And how old is this set?”

Jonas rubbed at the back of his neck and looked to Sidney for help. “A few years maybe?”’

“That’s fine. Old enough.” He was right, unfortunately for Jonas. “I could replace this single tire, but it won’t match the wear on the rest of them. And considering that your car is four-wheel drive, that would massively screw over your differentials. That’s the thing with these four-wheel drive cars; great, except for when you have to replace a tire.”

“So what does that mean?” Sidney’s irritation had been partially replaced with concern. 

He blew out a breath. “You’re gonna need to replace all of them.” The impact of that sentence was immediately evident on their faces.

“How much is that going to run us?” Her brows were tipped up in the middle. 

“At the cheapest? $550.”

_He didn’t have that kind of money. They didn’t have that kind of money. Their tech startup was just that right then: a startup. Both of them still had to maintain their other jobs, and that was barely enough to pay rent, bills, and other living expenses. Everything else went to the company. The collar of his shirt felt too-tight; he was acutely aware of the dampness underneath his arms._

_“Is there any way to avoid this? Any better fix?” Mitch was looking down at him, leanly muscled arms folded loosely across his chest. One of his hands was curled around his elbow, the tendons in the back of it flexing as he traced absentminded circles around the knob of bone._

_“If you ignore it now, there will only be worse problems to deal with later. I would say this is the cheapest option in the long run.”_

_Sidney shook her loose waves. “We’ll do it. We have to, Jonas. Somehow we’ll make it happen.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before steeling her resolve and looking back up at Mitch and reassuming her calculating expression. “How long will this take? Will he be able to drive home?”_

Her front had slipped as she reassured her brother. 

“It’ll take awhile, but yes, he should be able to drive home.” Jonas was practically wringing his hands. “If you don’t mind staying, you’ll be able to drive out of here today.”

“Okay, so at least we won’t be down a car.”

The conversation was between them at this point, and he didn’t interrupt, instead discreetly watching Jonas as they spoke. He was worrying at his bottom lip. The delicate flesh was flushed red and chapped from his saliva. A freckle resided in the gentle dip of his cupid’s bow, as if it had settled there of its own accord. It rose and fell with his words.

“What about the meeting?”

“Don’t worry, Jo. I can go. You stay here and figure everything out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s no big deal. You good?”

Mitch could see him trying to muster himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Her gaze flicked back to him. “Thank you,” she said, albeit gruffly. 

After that, things moved along about as quickly as they could. He offered Jonas his seat; the spot in the dirty plastic perch was slightly better than one of the folding chairs in the breakroom. The air in there was stagnant, the room dark save a bare bulb and any light that made it in through the window that faced into the garage. He looked out of place in the shop in his short-sleeved button-down, done up all the way and cuffed at the sleeves. The saffron yellow of the shirt was warm and bright against his skin, and it stood out compared to their array of work-worn denim and coveralls. His dark curls were sticking to the sweat on his brow, and he shifted uncomfortably and pushed them back. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on khaki-clad knees before resting the side of his face on a fist. His hand pushed into a soft, freckled cheek as he scrolled through his phone to pass the time. 

All of this Mitch gathered in stolen glances, looking up intermittently as he worked. Part of him was daring Jonas to look up too, for hazel green eyes to meet his own. 

_Every so often his eyes darted up from his phone. He was looking at the only thing there really was to look at, which was the mechanics who had set about working on his car. Mitch specifically. The tank top he was wearing was really a t-shirt that had been hacked to death, and the armholes dipped low on his sides. Everytime he bent over it gaped, revealing lean abdominals. Everytime he reached up, it clung to his chest, and he had to pluck it away. More than once he bantered with the man he was working alongside, laughing openly. It was a harsh, cracking sound, like dead branches snapping underfoot. It was also bawdy, and deep, and he was paying entirely too much attention to it._

“Mitch?” Javier was looking at him questioningly. “Are we changing some tires or are we staring off into space?”

“Shut up; I thought you wanted the work.”

“Hey, I do; I just -” His eyes followed Mitch’s gaze across the shop to where Jonas sat waiting. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“What ‘oh’?” he growled threateningly. 

Javier was squinting, trying to rein in his grin. “Nothing, nothing.”

“‘Nothing’ is damn right.”

“I just didn’t expect to see you fall for someone so -” He weighed his words. “ _That._ ”

“I am two seconds from de-braining you.”

His laugh was robust, and he ducked the wrench that was pointed in his direction. “Okay, let’s finish these tires up.” Dark brown eyes twinkled. 

The rest of their work was done in relative silence, and he was more careful about where and how often his gaze wandered. The only sounds that pierced the relative quiet of the garage were the clicks and hums replacing tires entailed. Faintly, the brazen drums and guitars of Scratch’s music filtered in and out from her perch in the scaffolding outside. Every so often, a hound yipped. By the time they finished, tendrils of pink and orange had started winding across the sky, washing it in the beginnings of a brilliant summer sunset. Cicadas had intensified their buzzing roar in the trees behind the shop, and some of the stickiness was bleeding from the air.

Cliff stood and stretched, scratching at his stomach and beckoning the dogs after him. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” A veritable pack of ragged dogs trotted after him and leapt up into the back of his pickup; he slammed the tailgate up behind them and pulled off with the purr of an engine that didn’t sound like it belonged in a truck. 

Scratch took her leave as well, shimmying down from her homebase and walking jauntily out of the shop. She tossed “goodbye’s” and “toodle-oo’s” over her shoulder. Her fingers waggled at Jonas and she winked, cackling. There was a figure straddling a sleek black motorcycle awaiting her, and she jammed a helmet onto her head as she swung her leg over the bike behind them. They turned, as if to look over into the garage, but their face was obscured by the reflective visor of their helmet. A rooster tail of dust plumed behind them as the motorcycle growled and lurched onto the road.

“Just you and me then, Bozo.”

“I wouldn’t speak so soon. I have to get home to Marzia and the boys,” Javier said. “If we don’t have anything left to do here.”

He could tell how badly he wanted to leave. Since he’d had his first kid - admittedly accidentally, Javier had grown up a little more than the rest of them. He still drank, and smoked, and cracked all of the same jokes, but he had also become the dad of the group, so to speak. He was always more eager than the others at the end of the day because he was _someone_ when he went home. He had kids who adored him and a girlfriend who pretended to tolerate him because she loved him. Whereas Cliff went home to a bunch of fake rednecks, and Scratch went home with whoever picked her up from work on any given day. 

And him?

He went home and splayed himself on his ratty couch, drinking a beer, a Coke, or both and watching television. Probably a shitty old action movie, maybe something else if he was too lazy to hunt something down. Sometimes he let his mind wander; as of late it often led him to Jonas. As his hand curled around himself, stroking slowly at first, his mind conjured up freckles and done-up button-downs. But that was only some nights. 

“Yeah, you go home. I’ll just wrap up here.”

Teeth flashed as he smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Mitch.”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t.”

Mitch wiped his hands off with a rag and tucked it back into his pocket, walking over to Jonas with an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face. He’d fallen asleep in the warmth of the sun, which had since begun to sink below the horizon. He nudged the slope of a shoulder with his knuckle. 

“Hey, wake up.”

The chair creaked under his weight as Jonas started. His eyes fluttered open to half-mast, and he was doing it again. Peering up through his eyelashes - not knowing, of course, what it stirred in who he happened to be peering _at_. 

The bulb of an Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and assumed his smirk. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“Took a little longer than expected,” he yawned, stretching. Yellow cotton-blend rode up, exposing the softness of his belly. He tugged it down quickly and stood. “How’s the car?”

Suddenly he had to make the pile of dust in the corner more interesting than the strip of flesh that was revealed to him. “Uh- fine, mostly. I’m going to need to check on the alignment, but the sun is setting.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You should come back within the next two weeks and let me handle it then. It’s not dangerous to drive or anything, just needs to be looked at.”

He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “How much more is that gonna cost me?” The expression on his face was a crossroads between weariness, exasperation, and the sheer defeat of the day. 

“Well, I don’t mind staying late if you stick around. Realignment on the house, eh?”

“Really? You’d do that?” Soft green eyes looked about ready to well up with tears, and Mitch wasn’t quite ready to handle that. 

“Sure thing. I don’t have much else better to do.”

“Thank you so much.” 

He felt his hand being clasped between two palms. They were hot without being clammy; like the weather of the past day was enveloping his hand. 

“‘S no problem. Really. You want a beer or anything? We have soda too.”

“Soda’s fine for now, thanks.”

Footsteps echoed against concrete as he returned, two Cokes dangling from his fingers by their sweating necks. He flicked on the overheads preemptively as the natural light seeped from the sky; it would save him from having to do it later. His foot caught one of the chairs and slung it over by the car, so that they wouldn’t have to talk across the garage since they were the only two there. Besides Mini, he supposed, who was skulking around somewhere. She’d make an appearance if she felt like it, which she didn’t usually ordain to. 

Jonas followed him over to his car, accepting the soda gratefully and taking a sip. He stretched up on his toes to watch as Mitch set about checking the alignment of the car.

“You could take a seat if you wanted to.” His voice was shot through with that crackling laugh. 

“Oh, sorry! Am I hovering? I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t mind; just don’t want you uncomfortable.”

Jonas smiled to himself and sat down, bringing up a foot to the edge of the chair as he watched. “Thanks.”

Eventually, the process became involved enough that he had to set down the half-finished glass bottle to regain use of both of his hands. Their conversation continued to meander along in between leisurely carbonated sips. 

“So, Sidney. She’s - ah -”

A laugh bubbled out from behind him. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed heavily. “I think she just has this whole protective older sister thing going on.” 

“I get that, but she still has a huge rod up her ass.”

He hid a laugh, just like he’d done earlier when Sid had mocked Mitch. “Well, I think it’s because -”

One long-fingered hand rose, palm facing forward. “I’m going to need a beer before you explain any further.”

“I wasn’t explaining all that much.” 

“Didn’t want to be a dick and hit pause on you later when I wanted one, yannow?” He grunted and wiped a hand on the leg of his coveralls. “Plus, you’ve already explained as much as I would after two beers,” Mitch snorted. He liked it, liked hearing Jonas speak comfortably about something more than his car. “Get us a few… will you?” The “will you?” was tacked on as an afterthought for Jonas’ benefit. 

“Where?”

“The fridge in the breakroom over there. There’s plenty.”

The clinking of beer bottles heralded his return as he set them down on the floor. He heard the quiet hiss of one being opened behind him. There was a subtle gulp, and a low, guttural noise made in the back of a throat. He laughed and looked back over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I feel like I always forget that I don’t like beer.”

“What? Never went to any cool high school parties and drank out of solo cups or whatever? Never chugged a forty at a college party?”

“Surprisingly, I’m not really the type,” Jonas said dryly. 

“Oh really? I’m shocked, Button-Down. Truly.”

“Hey!” 

He felt an indignant nudge at the back of his leg. 

“Drinking was never really my thing. Now, I’m a little better about it. Still a lightweight though, and I don’t like it all that much.”

“A lightweight?” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, what’re you going to do about it?” It came out surprisingly like a challenge.

Mitch mused and turned his head, eyeing Jonas out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever you want me to, Spots.”

The color in Jonas’ cheeks deepened, and he grew silent for a few moments, unsure how to respond. He settled for continuing his explanation. “Anyways, I’ve always been the quieter one, and sometimes I think - to her - that means I’m the weaker one.” It came out like a question. “Which might be true. I don’t stand up for myself as much; I tolerate more. I think we kind of polarized; somewhere along the way she stopped taking any shit and I just… didn’t.” His shoulders rose in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess she has reason for it; we both do.”

_The words had come out in a torrent, at least compared to everything else he’d said. Maybe it was his tongue, loosened with sugar and alcohol. But it felt good to let go for a moment. So much of his childhood had been eggshells, and the paralysis that came with feeling one crunch beneath your foot. So much of his adulthood now was pushing for success, trying to prove himself, trying to make his existence worth it. Because he really felt like he had to justify being there._

Mitch was still facing the car, but his eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected that openness from Jonas. There was some instinctive part of him that wanted to disagree, but maybe it was just a thing people said. _No, you’re not weak._ Some kind of nullification of the self-deprecation. Perhaps Jonas’ assessment was right. The way Sidney presented her guard before herself, the way she had squeezed her brother’s hand reassuringly, the way she was always watching closely, almost maternally. Her tongue was quick, not cutting off but somehow imminently preceding his words. It seemed to him that at least when Jonas was with his sister, he was the subordinate that he considered himself to be.

“Maybe if you didn’t hang around her like that.”

A freckled nose wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes to really be yourself you have to be alone and shit.”

“Oh, I - I couldn’t do that to Sid,” he stuttered. “She can be a little overbearing sometimes, but without each other we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

Mitch was quiet. 

“Why? Have you been alone before?”

He shrugged and wiped off his hands, snagging a beer from the floor and opening it with his teeth. 

“That’s bad for your teeth, y’know.”

“I don’t do it often.” Another swill disappeared down his gullet. “Keys have a bottle opener on them, but they’re not on me.”

“I’m surprised.”

He just raised his brows, the “why?” spelled out on his face. 

“Figured with a car like that you wouldn’t let your keys out of your sight.”

“And what do you know about cars? Needing me to swap out all of your tires.” The taunting grin that spread across his face was toothy. 

Jonas let it slide with a bemused hum. “Enough to know that that’s a pretty nice one.”

His car was one of his soft spots, and it seemed that Jonas had absolutely no problem finding it. The memories of long days spent working on it, restoring it, were easily conjured up. It wouldn’t have taken him so damn long if he’d been able to find all the parts he needed right away, but he would’ve never been able to afford it all at once. What he’d bought was basically a shell filled with rattling metal pieces, only a handful of which were actually useful. Spreading the purchases out over the course of the restoration was what had really saved his ass. That and the fact that he worked in a shop, and that he was excellent at ordering Scratch to sift through junkyards and scrap heaps in the dead of night. He’d given his blood to that car. More than once it had snarled and snapped at him, bitten him, caught him, scraped him. But he couldn’t help but forgive her for it. 

“Damn right she is.”

“She?”

“Cars are chicks, dude.”

“Right, right. What’s her name?”

“Henny.”

Jonas looked at him questioningly and gestured him on with the sloshing bottle of amber fluid. 

“My mom’s name is Henrietta, and I couldn’t think of a name I liked more.” It was true; Mitch was nowhere _near_ as close to anyone else as he was to his mom. He often joked that he looked just like her, minus the actual looks of course. Their faces were both long, grins both wide. However, his upper lip was too pointed, his teeth too large compared to hers - at least in his opinion. She’d given him his passion, but not his temper. The temper had come from someone he didn’t often talk about, and didn’t intend to talk about.

Jonas’ gaze was soft. “Sounds like you care a lot about her.”

“I guess.” He rolled his shoulders. “I mean, yeah, I do.” He’d outpaced Jonas; the bottle in his hand was already empty. It clinked dully against concrete as he set it down and turned back to the car. The had almost completely set at that point, leaving the sky midnight blue and flecked with stars like freckles that dotted soft cheeks. Faint fingers of orange still streaked the far edge of the vast expanse. “So, what about your mom?”

“I guess that’d be Sue.”

“You guess?”

“Sid and I are adopted. Dean and Sue adopted us officially around six or seven. I mean, great people, you know - taking us in and all. But it never really felt - felt like it sounds with you and your mom.”

“Well, not everyone’s like Mom and I. We kinda had to stick together.”

“What for?”

His shoulders drew up as he worked. “You know. Shitty stuff.”

 _Jonas wasn’t sure it was a good idea to press him. He wanted to know more, wanted Mitch to share that with him. “Shitty stuff like?” he ventured._

The realignment was done; it had been for awhile. However, he needed something to do with his hands, and so he’d kept it up while they were talking. Now, he leaned up against the cool side of the vehicle, folding his arms across his chest.

“Why didn’t you ever feel like Dean and Sue are your real parents?”

 _He realized that it was going to be a give and take. Probably a give and give, then a take. Mitch was a little less than forthcoming, and so he confronted his attempt to dodge the question with as close to a real answer as he could give._

“Because they aren’t. There was always a sense of permanency; it wasn’t like a foster home. Sidney says it’s because we weren’t treated like parents treat their kids. But I think plenty of parents treat their kids like we were treated.” He sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. It just always felt like we had been adopted by this nice, albeit strict, family, and that’s just how it was. And sometime it sucked, but you took it because, hey, you had a home.” Hazel green eyes darted to Mitch. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Shitty stuff like?”

He took up another one of the few beers Jonas had brought back from the fridge. “Dad number one decided to cut out. ‘Dad’ number two was a massive dick in general. I taught him a lesson.”

A faint flicker of fear darted across a freckled visage, and he caught it. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to share that he may or may not have done something to his step dad when they were all alone, in the middle of the night, in a garage that was bordered on its southernmost side by dense woods. That unease sent a pang through his heart. 

“He had it comin’. Big time. No one fucks with my mom.”

Thankfully, he saw understanding lighting up Jonas’ eyes. “I get it.” His beer was maybe half-finished by then, and he took another sip. “Family is important. Real family, I mean.”

Their conversation lightened up after that as they drank and talked. Mitch eventually pulled up another chair so that he wasn’t constantly looming over the other man. He explained how to take a tire off and put a new one on, what differentials were, and why he needed to realign everything after putting a new set on the car. Jonas listened intently, but he could tell he was lost. He teased him - not the harsh ribbing he slammed Javier, or Scratch, or Cliff with - but the elementary school hair pulling Sidney had mocked earlier in the day. He found out that Jonas was running a tech startup with Sidney, but that they both still worked regular jobs. By day, he was an accountant for hire to small companies, and by the rest of the day and most of the night, he was working himself into oblivion trying to get his own small company off of the ground. He had two cats: Jack and Sparrow, green-eyed, grey tabby brothers named after Captain Jack Sparrow of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. For that he earned a scoff and a “fuckin’ nerd”. 

As promised, Jonas was a lightweight. It was only after a beer and a half that he was flushed and laughing, and he cut himself off, leaving Mitch to finish his half a bottle. In contrast, he was more than pink and giggly when he was buzzed. He could barely keep his eyes off of him. The more he discovered about him, the more he noticed physically as well. A freckle somewhere he hadn’t noticed before. The subtle puppy-dog droop of his eyes that only served to make him look younger. The way he’d restricted his nail-biting to a few fingers. There were times Jonas caught him looking, and he knew it. In fact, he was tempted to do something about it. 

But what do you say when you’ve only known each other for a month through a series of brief interactions over a car in need of consistent fixing? What do you say when it feels like you’ve already been through the first date chatter, and even more? What do you say when you’re already existing in the best possible moment you could conceive? There was nothing he could think to ask Jonas that would be better than this, and wracking his brain wasn’t yielding much. 

“You’re awful quiet.”

“You want to do something?”

“Like?”

“Anything. Drive around. Whatever you want.”

“Mm.” _What was this? His eyes darted up to Mitch’s face. Was he teasing him?_ “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to stop hanging out,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

 _His heart skipped a beat in his chest._ “Then I want ice cream. You think there’s anywhere still open?”

“I think I know a place; I’ll drive.”

“Then I’ll pay.” 

Mitch offered a hand to Jonas, feeling the familiar warmth of his hand pressing flush to his palm. He smiled when he wavered and sagged against him, off-balance. “You weren’t kidding about being a lightweight.” He steadied him carefully. “And you’re not paying; I’ve already taken too much of your money today.”

“You can’t just drive me around and pay for me!” he objected.

He rolled the doors down at the panel and flicked off the overhead fluorescents, leaving only the outdoor floodlights on. Their footsteps joined the soft murmurs of the sleeping world as they walked out to Henrietta. “And why can’t I?”

“I - I don’t know.” _His cheeks felt hot, and he was glad that Mitch couldn’t see him in the dark._

“Well let’s just see how it goes, how ‘bout it.”

There was no seat in the world more comfortable than in the driver’s seat of his car. He leaned across to open the passenger’s side door, peering up at Jonas. “What are you waiting for?”

Leather squeaked gently, and the door slammed. “Nothing, I guess.”

That characteristic grin split his face. “Good.” His laugh ricocheted around the car as he put the car in reverse and slammed his foot into the gas, whipping them around with a practiced flourish of his wrist once all four tires were touching the pavement of the road. He cut his eyes to a tanned hand clutching a khaki-clad knee. His teeth caught at his tongue as he shifted and floored it down the small highway that ran next to the shop. The grip was white-knuckled. The engine roared as he accelerated, settling into a throaty purr. 

“That’s my girl,” he purred back. He pulled his aviators from atop his head and tucked them into the front of his shirt before rolling the window down, allowing the wind to weave gusty fingers through his hair. 

“How’s it going?”

“Fast,” Jonas squeaked from the passenger’s seat. “Very fast.”

“Enjoy it!” he yelled over the wind, pushing Henny further. “We’re about to hit a stretch of cops.”

“You seem like the law-abiding type.”

“You’re a fuckin’ riot, you know that, Spots?” He shifted down, still well over the speed limit. “My speeding ticket fund is currently exhausted. Plus, Henny isn’t just any car; they know who to look for at this point.” Another downshift. “You want to listen to some music? Coulda put a new system in her, but I wanted to keep it authentic. Cassettes only.”

He saw dark waves fall forward as he leaned over to rifle through a crate of loose tapes, most of them pretty beat up. There was a surprising assortment beyond the little-known punk bands, and usually he was pretty defensive about people rifling through his music. He didn’t mind seeing the crate wedged between soft calves, unfamiliar hands sifting through the clattering plastic. 

“I haven’t heard of much of this.” The words drifted out of him absentmindedly, although with interest. 

“Anything is fine,” he murmured in the quiet the rushing wind had left as he slowed to a few miles above the speed limit. Henrietta was never meant to go anything less than sixty, but he’d take it over not being able to drive her at all. 

“Oh! I think I might know this one; it’s a single, if that’s fine.”

His silence was meant to be a permissive one, but Jonas hesitated. “Go on.”

“Cool.”

He reached over and fiddled with the system, smiling at the choice. 

_One Saturday I took a walk to Zipperhead, I met a girl there and she almost knocked me dead_  
Punk rock girl please look at me, Punk rock girl what do you see?  
Let’s travel ‘round the world, Just you and me, punk rock girl 

“You like The Dead Milkmen?”

His shoulders rose. “I like this song, at least. I haven’t heard much of their other stuff.”

This wasn’t his usual face-splitting smile; it was smaller, barely a bloom of the seeds Jonas had unwittingly sown. “I’ll play more of them for you later.” He started to sing some of the lyrics, just the bits that he knew well enough to howl shittily, his arm dangling out of the window of his Chevy. “He took me to his parents for a Sunday meal; his father took one look at me, and he began to squeal! Punk rock boy it makes no sense!”

He could feel those green eyes on him. “What?” His voice was gruff. 

“Nothing - just like your lyrical improvisation there.”

“Yeah?”

His head turned back to the road ahead of them, and his response came in song. “We got into a car; away we started rollin’. I said, ‘How much you pay for this?’ He said, ‘Nothing man, it’s stolen’. Punk rock boy you look so wild.” His voice actually wasn’t bad. Definitely better than his out-of-tune shouting. The way he sang it changed the song, even though it was blaring from the speakers right in front of them. 

The car swung into a parking lot in front of a superstore; one of those ones that’s open twenty-four hours a day. He opened the door and stepped out, leaning over and smiling at Jonas. “What flavor d’ya want?”

He looked confused. “Mint chip?”

“Cool. Be back soon.” The car was left idling; this wouldn’t take long. He was barely paying attention to making his way through the store, looking for ice cream and some plastic spoons. Nicking shit wasn’t exactly new to him. What his thoughts were occupied with, however, was the man sitting in his car in the parking lot. There had definitely been a part of him that the unsettled feeling he felt around Jonas was a passing sort of a thing. The kind of thing that fades away of its own accord because it was never that big of a deal in the first place. Instead, that damn car had kept breaking, and the unsettled feeling revealed itself as an unfamiliar warmth. Like he’d leaned too close to a flame, and it’s heat was licking up his face. And now where was he? Stealing what was arguably the grossest flavor of ice cream for a chubby guy who didn’t really care for beer, named cats after the Pirates of the Caribbean, and kept fucking looking at him like he was important. What was worse was the fact that he couldn’t muster any real disgust with the situation. If this wasn’t going soft, he wasn’t sure what it was.

_He looked down at his phone, which was practically beaming the darkness of the car._

_“Jonas; you alright? Car done?”_

_“Jonas?”_

_“??!!”_

_“Your phone had better be dead”_

_“I’m going to call the fucking police”_

_“Okay, you’re really scaring me, Jo”_

_“Please be okay”_

_Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Sidney had been worrying out of her mind while he hung out with Mitch. Mitch, who was really just some mechanic he’d talked to a few times over his past month of bad car luck. Mitch, who smiled at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. Mitch, who drove fast and whipped into parking lots to get ice cream in the dead of night._

_“I’m so sorry; I’m okay,” he texted back quickly._

_“Where the hell are you and why didn’t you text back”_

_He didn’t necessarily want to tell her what he’d been busy doing. “Phone died”_

_“Okay so where the hell are you”_

_“I’m just hanging out w some people; they texted me last minute”_

_“You’re with him, aren’t you?”_

_“Who?”_

_Her mocking impression made a second appearance. “sPOTS”_

_“I am, so what”_

_“What the actual hell Jonas”_

_“I can hang out w people without getting the all-clear from you” It wasn’t fair to say, and he knew it, but she’d put him on the defensive. Usually they didn’t have to navigate this situation because Jonas didn’t often deviate from the safe path he’d created for himself. But Mitch was a big deviation. He was the equivalent of swapping his sedan for an off-road vehicle and plunging into the brush. And he wasn’t as scared of that fact as he should have been._

_“???”_

_“Sorry”_

Jonas started when he opened the door and dumped a carton of ice cream and a box of plastic spoons in his lap unceremoniously. He looked almost guilty, tucking his phone back into his pants pocket. 

“There’s your ice cream.”

“You don’t want any?”

His teeth worried at the same spot on the inside of his lip, knowing the risk he ran eating in front of someone. His body would get more pissed at him than usual; his brain would probably flip out too. Jonas would realize he’d spent hours on end with some unstable freak. “I’ll get some later.” He was more careful pulling out of the parking lot this time. 

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Nothing; it’s stolen,” he sang, his voice cracking.

Cheeks flushed as he tore off the lid and dug in with one of the spoons. The undeniable aroma of mint wafted around the car. They were quiet, and he rolled down the window, watching as trees and mostly dark stores passed. It almost felt like they were standing still, and it was the rest of the world that was passing them. Occasionally something that was open flew past them, the neon of the “open” sign leaving a trail of light like in long exposure photography. 

His voice blended with the wind, a gusty sigh that slid from between his lips. “Where are we going now?”

“You’ll see, if that’s okay.”

“How far?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.” He looked over. “Who were you texting?”

“Oh; just Sid.” 

The silence Mitch let stretch on beckoned more words from him. 

“I forgot to tell her what was up, and she was really worried. And really angry.” The spoon stuck up out of the ice cream after he left it jammed there with a heavy sigh. “I think I escalated it too. It wasn’t worth it, but now stuff’ll be weird when I get home. So I’m not really in much of a rush.”

“How’d you, uh, _escalate_ it?”

“I don’t think she was very happy to hear that I was spending time with you. And I said that I didn’t need her to clear everyone in my life. I just got kind of snappy, and it wasn’t really fair because she was just worried about me and -”

“Are you having fun?”

“What?”

“Are you having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t worry about it right now. From what you’ve told me, sounds like back talking her a bit couldn’t’a been bad for you. But that’s just the humble opinion of a guy who looks like the leader of a biker gang.”

Jonas buried his face in his hands and groaned. “You heard her say that?” 

He turned off onto a side road. It rankled him, yeah, but no use in getting upset about it. Not at least when he could be hanging out with Jonas instead. “No big deal.” Headlight beams bounced along ahead of them as Henrietta’s tires tackled the roughly-paved road.

“I don’t think that about you.”

His heart clenched.

“Ah, you don’t have to say that, Spots. I know what people think of me.” It was the same thing they’d thought pretty much since middle school, and especially since that stint he served during high school. In everyone else’s eyes, he was trailer trash, trailer trash with a rap sheet the length of a football field. Which was funny, considering he’d never set foot on a field unless it was to do doughnuts in Scratch’s car and leave ruts of turned soil in their wake. He ran his tongue over his teeth and brushed under his nose with a knuckle, looking down and twisting the keys in the ignition. “We’re here.”

 _The words - “I don’t think that about you” - died on his lips as Mitch punctuated the conversation with a brief, “we’re here”. He looked up, and as his eyes adjusted to the scape in front of them without the headlights to illuminate it. The grass was bare in spots, probably from years of cars being parked on it, but the places that weren’t were lush and soft. Beyond that lay scattered boulders that dropped off into a steep decline. Towering pine trees sprouted between them, swaying gently in the breeze._

“I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place,” he breathed.

He swung himself out of the car. “Well it’s not much of a surprise then, I s’pose.” He caught him draw in his shoulders against the sudden chill that had washed over the atmosphere in the absence of the beating sun. Especially with the current of air sweeping up lazily from the water. 

“Still a surprise that you know about it, a nice one.” He walked eagerly towards the rocks and hopped over one with surprising sureness. 

It felt like his foot was springing up from the ground with each step as he bounded across the small clearing and peered over the edge to the sight of a surprising techie-turned-mountain-goat, navigating his way down the rocks. Not to be shown up by someone who was barely breaking 5’4, he clambered down, gaining on the other man sheerly because of the length of his stride. Jonas was almost outpacing him, presumably because of his familiarity with the terrain, although it was surprising to think of him climbing down rocks, sending skittering pebbles to the beach below.

One misstep, when Jonas had nearly reached the bottom, sent his sneakered feet flying from beneath him. 

The muscles in his arms sang as he lunged forward and wrapped them haphazardly around a yielding chest. Rock shifted under his feet; he strained against gravity and braced himself against one of the boulders. He felt warm hands gripping for dear life at where his arm banded his chest. 

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” he assured him. It felt like the air was being sucked from his lungs, like what he imagined jumping from a plane would feel like on a smaller scale. “Fuck.” The expletive fell halfway between a gasp and a mutter as they fell. Rock slammed into his back and expelled air he didn’t know he still had left in his lungs. They slid down the last few feet, raking his top up his back before they fell into a heap in the damp sand. He lay, chest heaving beneath the stars. Lanky arms were still wrapped around Jonas, who was similarly stunned. 

The form atop him rolled off onto his hands and knees with a groan, their fall illuminated by moonrays that glanced off of lapping waves. He felt hands press into his chest. 

“Mitch? Mitch?”

His hand curled loosely around the palm pressed over his heart. “I’m fine; no need to sound so worried.”

Jonas pulled away quickly with a nervous laugh. “Right, sorry.”

“No need to apologize either,” he said bemusedly, sitting up with a wince.

“Here, let me look.”

Before he could protest, Jonas was behind him, pushing his shirt back up and trying to examine his back in the dim light. He bowed his head and let himself be tended to, leaning into the soft touch. “Y’see anything, Doc?” Fingers passed over his skin another time. 

“Very funny; I think it’s fine.”

“Cool.” His shoes dug into the sand when he stood and offered his hand. 

They walked down to the water together, two pairs of hands shoved into their pockets, shoes scuffing at rocks. The water was calm but not smooth, and the moon and stars were reflected imperfectly in the tidal mirror. 

“So how do you know about this place?”

“Sid and I used to come down here and dick around when we were younger. We’d do whatever. Skip rocks, sometimes I did homework, bring snacks and swim. Just fun stuff.”

“Homework is fun?” he snorted.

“You are just full of jokes tonight, yeah?” His eyes rolled even though he was hiding a laugh. “What about you? How do you know about this place?”

“There’s only so much to do. To be honest, I only found it recently. Was looking for somewhere new to drink with the gang.”

“They seem… cool.”

“Yeah. Javier is pretty cool. Had a weird clown fetish for a while, probably still does. Scratch is neurotic. Cliff is a dumb hick with way too many animals.”

“Nice?”

They sat away from the edge of the water, and he dug his hands into the sand. It rasped over his skin, gritty as he sifted the granulated dampness and small pebbles through his fingers.

“They’re not too bad. Javier somehow has kids now, so that’s weird. If you knew him you’d know what a surprise it was. But now that it’s happened, it kind of makes sense.” Javier had met some girl after they graduated high school. She was attending community college at the time, but dropped out when she found out she was pregnant with their first child. Javier had freaked initially; he remembered the panicked phone call and the ensuing meeting on the fringes of the trailer park. Eventually, he’d wrapped his brain around the idea of a baby and vowed to try and support Marzia. A year later and he found himself being slapped upside the head - by Marzia - for knocking her up again. This time with Adrian. For a while they’d balanced out, found an equilibrium, until Cliff got Javier mixed up in his weed. He did a year inside, and emerged to a four-year old, a three-year old, and a two-month old. Marzia named the third after Javier in a soft-hearted moment, but ever since she’d been putting him through the ringer. He endured it because he loved her, and because he knew he’d screwed up bad.

“Really?” Jonas sounded awed after his spiel. 

“Really. But it kinda seems worth it, you know? At least for him. Mateo especially is a good kid, my favorite, if I’m being honest.” He smiled as he thought about the last time Mattie had visited the shop, running ahead of his harried mother. His mop of curly hair barely made it halfway up the front seat of Henny, which he was about as infatuated with as Mitch was. 

“That sounds really nice.” His voice was soft, rounded around the edges at the thought of Mitch crouched by his car, entertaining a bright-eyed toddler. “What about Scratch and Cliff?”

He shrugged. “Scratch is Scratch. She’s completely unhinged, but that’s how she likes it. She’s actually the one who was really into cars first. Drove a beater back in high school; she painted a skull on the hood. It was pretty rough - looked like something out of a Mad Max movie. But she stuck with it, kept painting and detailing until she got really good.” A yawn went unstifled. “She hounded us, like she does, and I tried my hand at some mechanical work. Javier too; he needed a steady job for the kids. Cliff just didn’t have shit else to do. It’s better than odd jobs, all of us getting to work together. Plus, I eventually got good enough that I could rebuild Henny.”

Jonas’ head was turned towards him, like he was actually listening and absorbing everything he was saying. Like he gave a damn. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d already said, but something about it felt good. Cathartic, in a way. So he kept going.

“Cliff is kind of just an idiot, if you ask me. You’ll notice we live in California, and he still acts like he was born and bred in West Virginia. Which he wasn't. Scratch can make the outside of any car look good, but Cliff is who makes the inside really work. His truck sounds like a sports car for a reason. And he always has animals?” He squinted and lifted a hand in a display of confusion. “Like if you thought the dogs were a lot… there’s plenty more where those came from. And others too.”

Over the course of their meandering conversation, Mitch found Jonas closer and closer. Whether that was his own subconscious doing, Jonas’, or both, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t opposed to it. Eventually, soft waves brushed his bare shoulder, a quiet yawn slipping out by his ear.

“You tired?”

“No.”

He checked his watch. It was 1:30 a.m. “I think it’s well beyond your bedtime. And judging by how last time went, it’s going to take another hour just to get you back up those rocks.”

Jonas shoved him indignantly. “Fine, I need to go home then.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No way in hell you’re driving, lightweight.”

Too tired to protest, Jonas fell silent against his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

He was warm against Mitch as he helped him to his feet and then back up the boulders, much slower and more deliberately the second time. The drive was quiet too, in the comfortable way. Eras of the drive home were punctuated by Jonas’ almost-whispered directions until they rolled to a stop in front of he and Sid’s tiny postage stamp of a home. 

“Here?”

“Yeah.” He yawned and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Do you want to come in? It’s late.”

What? His brow rose. Jonas really, really didn’t seem the type. He leaned across the center console, planting one of his hands next to Jonas’ thigh on the seat. “I don’t know if Sid would really appreciate that, but I’m all about breaking the rules.” Their breaths mingled for a moment before a squeak occupied the space between their lips.

“What?” he murmured, opening his eyes.

“I was just wondering if you wanted some - um - some hot cocoa or something,” he squeaked.

Mitch hesitated and looked into hazel green eyes. “Did you just ask me if I want hot chocolate? In the middle of the summer?” Easily the weirdest hookup of his life. Why he was surprised that Jonas wanted to nurture him with a cup of hot chocolate instead of fucking, he didn’t know.

A freckled nose wrinkled. “Well, cold cocoa doesn’t sound very good, does it?”

He bowed his head - which narrowly missed Jonas’ - and laughed in between them. “Of course. No, no it doesn’t.”

 _He’d seen Mitch smile plenty that day, that night too. But none of those flashes of teeth had felt so genuine as in that moment, with their faces so close - when did they get so close? Somehow he hadn’t noticed? He hoped his car wasn’t going to need fixing again, because he was pretty sure he was about to do something. And he was worried that if he ruined everything, he’d have to face the only witness of his mistake again. That thought was probably the only one that spurred him on._

He didn’t see it coming, still laughing to himself when soft lips pressed to his. It was a textbook stolen kiss: brief, sweet, unexpected. Jonas had pulled back before he got the chance to - well, before he got the chance to pull him closer and kiss him the way he wanted to. 

“You should smile like that more often,” he said boldly. And fuck if that wasn’t - not the cutest - the _hottest_ thing Jonas had ever done. “I have to go inside. Late.” His face was burning.

Long fingers caught at the buttoned front of a yellow top to keep him from stepping out. “Woah, woah. You don’t get to take Mitch Mueller by surprise and then just leave my ass in the car.” He pulled him close across the console and angled his head to kiss him deeply. The hand that wasn’t clenching wrinkles into the front of his shirt slid up to cup the back of his neck, fingers toying gently with the hair at his nape. Their breathing grew frantic, and Jonas parted, panting shallowly. Their foreheads pressed together, and Mitch slid his fingers further up into dark waves. “More,” he murmured, catching a full bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yes.” Those summer breeze hands skimmed leanly muscled forearms, like he was bracing himself against the current of their kiss. There was no close enough, no way for Mitch to arrange his height comfortably. But he didn’t care.

Hearts pounding, they parted.

He was the first to speak. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Why?” he asked breathlessly.

Mitch wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, trying to seem amused even though he was just as flustered. “To pick up your car?”

Cheeks still ablaze, he nodded his confirmation hurriedly. “Right, right, yeah.”

“I do really hope that I see you tomorrow, Spots. Really.” He reached out and thumbed some of the freckles along his jawline. “You’ve got a little something on your face.”


End file.
